You're My Breath Of Quiet In A World Of Noise
by LITERALLYLEN
Summary: At first she was astounded by this beautiful, courageous, fraudulently self sacrificing boy that was painted with the glory of the greatest heroes of the old world demigods, and was breathed to life by the most treacherously awful storms of the seven seas. She's helpless towards him for completely new reasons now, ones that skirt on desperate. / Post Tartarus Au /


He's a good kisser, he's always been a good kisser, and Annabeth's always known he was, can recognize it even now when it's more hurt than anything, when she's kissing him not as a means of pleasure, but a means of staying put together. Of not fucking cracking open in guilt and pain and the feelings of inadequacies that are one and the same of being the child of a god (more so when your mother is the most judgmental bitch in the universe)

She smiles against his lips, thinks of how she has always been so desperate for him, painstakingly so. She was desperate for his affections because he's always been an enigma to her, even when people thought she was the one person on this fucked up planet who could understand him completely. Annabeth could've never lived up to those expectations because, well he never would've let her. Percy would've never let her see him for all he is, he still won't ever, Annabeth knows that now. She knows that Percy won't ever give himself wholly to her. He'll never let her see the dark bits and jagged edges that compose his person, but he's the only person Annabeth doesn't care that he won't do that for her, Not for lack of wanting— gods does she want to claim all of him to herself, even now— but rather because she's helpless.

Annabeth's always been helpless for him. At first she was astounded by this beautiful, courageous, fraudulently self sacrificing boy that was painted with the glory of the greatest heroes of the old world demigods, and was breathed to life by the most treacherously awful storms of the seven seas.

She's helpless towards him for completely new reasons now, ones that skirt on desperate.

Annabeth once likened herself to Artemis, a woman who never needed the support of a others, especially not some boy. Annabeth lost herself in follies of being completely her own, staying the self possessed, well rounded daughter of Athena with a pretty face and bright mind.

That picture of herself fractured when she first admitted to herself that she was in love with Percy Jackson in the depths of the Labyrinth that still gives her chills when she thinks of it for too long to this day. Felt the picture completely shatter when she gave herself to him completely the moment he dropped down with her in the literal pit of hell.

She had thought it was an equal trade, her soul for his own, but now she knows what she always should've, that he never intended on reciprocating that unspoken bargain.

She pushes those dark thoughts from her mind, presses closer to him and snakes her hands beneath his shirt instead.

"I love you," he says, soft like a prayer she's never heard.

"I love you so much more," she says with more intensity than intended.

He simpers down at her as he slinks off his well fitting polo, dips back down to latch his mouth to her neck while unclasping her bra.

Annabeth feels hot all over.

Sometimes she can hardly reconcile the first breaths of young love— shy kisses and interlaced hands and chortled words— with the raw fervency— a sort of primal selfishness— she's come to feel for the same boy that has been such an integral part of her life for nearly a decade.

It's so overwhelming sometimes that Annabeth could cry.

She never lets herself.

Instead she slants her lips over his own— because they're always in one another's fucking orbits now— and she silently pleads for him to make her not think for only an hour or two. And he always obliges because if Percy Jackson is anything, it's forever selfless. He'd always put the needs and wants of others before his own, it's just who he is.

So earlier this evening when Annabeth saw that sickeningly familiar darkness cross his insanely beautiful face for the third time that day, and she asked him if he needed to talk, Percy just shook his head resolutely and began kissing her as if the fate of the world depended on it.

Annabeth sometimes thinks that if she were stronger— if she were less selfish when it came to Percy— that she'd make it a bigger deal. She would yell and scream and plead for him to just fucking talk to her, to not burrow all the hurt and fear and whatever else he's feeling with his idiotic hero complex inside of him. She would demand that he holds her tight and divulge to her all the self hating, terrified thoughts that pop up in his glorious mind. She's always been the brains in their trio, to Grover's self righteousness and Percy's heart. If Annabeth were just slightly willing to lose him, for the greater good, she would make him tell her all his woes because she would come up with the perfect words or strategize a brilliant plan to execute , one that would solve whatever problem he's struggling with.

Annabeth would, she knows it, knows just how vast her capabilities are, knows that she's the smartest demigod in an age. She knows it and so does he. But she's too terrified to lose him, and he's too terrified to not fulfill the expectations that the world holds up, unforgiving, for such a remarkable soul,

so they never speak on it. Annabeth reckons that there are chasms of conversations that go on in the words that go unspoken between them, and sometimes it makes Annabeth want to scream. The only respite she's found is when they're entangled into one another, like now.

His hand trails down her spine, flutters around her hip, and thumbs open her jeans. For a sparing moment Annabeth thinks that this could be it. That she could ignore her worst fears of never having something permanent and she could face him because she loves him so gods fucking much.

She thinks it even when she knows it's not true.

His head is between Annabeth's thighs, tongue flicking teasingly against her whole, while a finger toys with her clit in an insane rhythm that makes her writhe uncontrollably and moan with pleasure.

She screams out his name in a choked out gasp, and when she shutters past the edge he kisses her through the worst of the shaking.

Annabeth kisses him back with all she has— all she knows how to give— and she pretends that the tears are just from how good it felt and not because she sometimes hates herself for loving him more than she knows to do with.

**.-**

**Author's Note: Thank you so so much for reading this mess! It would truly mean the world and everything else if you left me a review letting me know what you thought333 **


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